


Simple Gifts

by jusrecht



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birthday, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Healing, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: Tony spends the day in Kamar-Taj.





	Simple Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> Late birthday fic for Tony, but at least it's done!
> 
> A small note about the location of Kamar-Taj: We all know that MCU-wise Kamar-Taj is located in Kathmandu. For this fic, I'd like to stretch that concept a bit. Let's say that Kamar-Taj has _an entrance_ in Kathmandu, but is actually located higher up on the Himalayan mountainside. Where precisely is unclear, but let's just imagine it that way and not think too much about it :D

 

It’s the silence that wakes him.

 

Tony had a dream like this before. Endless silence and blankness. Deserted rooms and empty hallways. The Tower, the Compound, brightly lit but devoid of life, of sounds. Even (JARVIS) FRIDAY was curiously missing.

 

This silence is different. It cradles him gently, like a mother would her child, until his mind catches up with the present. He blinks, slow and hazy, eyes heavy with the mire of sleep. The room’s comfortable darkness is pierced by thin shafts of sunlight from a latticed window. Squinting, he sees the table, the desk lamp, the nondescript black laptop. Above him is a ceiling of crisscrossed wooden beams.

 

Recognition comes to him slowly. He’s in Stephen’s room. In Kamar-Taj.

 

There is no sign of Stephen.

 

A breathless moment passes as Tony waits for panic to set in. It does not. Instead, his ears catch a scatter of distant sounds, floating from the peripheries to the fore of his attention. Soft footsteps on wooden floor. A broom across leaf-strewn stones. Sounds that remind him to his childhood and lazy mornings and his mother’s lakeside house. They ground him here, to this point of existence where Tony Stark is alive and well, his body made whole again. His psyche is another matter entirely, but he _knows_ he is better now, progressing every day. The lack of panic just now confirms it.

 

Out of habit, Tony’s hand drifts to the other side. The bed is large enough for two grown men sleeping in close proximity. Stephen’s side is cool, proof that he has been gone for some time, but it isn’t empty. A blue paper butterfly is sitting conspicuously on his pillow. It blooms open upon Tony’s touch, revealing a few lines in an unsteady handwriting that has become as familiar to him as it is endearing.

 

_Happy Birthday_  
_(An emergency, will be back ASAP)_  
  
_Love, Stephen_

 

Just as he comes to the end of the note, a ghostly touch rises to caress his pillow-warmed cheek. A brush of magic that reminds him to a kiss.

 

Stephen and his tricks. Tony huffs but also welcomes the first smile of the day on his face.

 

 

–

 

 

“Morning.”

 

“Good morning, Dr Stark.” The greeting comes from Arun, one of the younger Masters. He smiles, flashing a row of white teeth as he crosses the garden with quick light steps. Balanced on his hands are a stack of thick tomes, the jewelled covers struck aglow by sunlight.

 

“The Sorcerer Supreme hasn’t returned yet,” he continues, almost apologetic—and Tony remembers Stephen complaining about Arun’s insistence to address him only and only by his title. “Probably won’t until late in the afternoon. But perhaps you will partake of our humble meal?”

 

“I thought you wizards had your breakfast at sunrise. Or some other ungodly hour that could only be torture.”

 

The smile turns into a grin. “As a rule, yes. No exception for the novices and disciples, of course, but a master, well, sometimes he has other duties.”

 

It sounds rather suspicious. Tony cannot help but wonder if Arun—who idolises Stephen way too much as it is—has deliberately waited to keep him company. Probably under Stephen’s order. Which is nothing short of exasperating, even if the thought brings another smile to Tony’s lips.

 

“Only if you promise not to hover.”

 

“I would never dream of it,” is the solemn reply.

 

“Then lead the way, young wizard.”

 

Tony follows him through the complex, breathing in the cool sharp air deeply; _untainted_ , like this entire place. At one point, they pass a courtyard filled with novices hard at practice. The two Masters on duty nod at him in greeting. By now, they are more or less used to his presence, but the students are another matter entirely. More than a few break routine in lieu of gaping until a firm reprimand brings them back to attention.

 

Arun catches his eyes and shrugs, smiling. “Kids. Weak for celebrities.”

 

“Most of them are older than you,” Tony points out. “Also, is it just me or you have more students now?”

 

“We’ve had quite an influx in the past few months.” Arun hesitates as they round a corner. “The fallout of, well, you know.”

 

Tony’s steps falter. Even now, the mere thought of Thanos never fails to bring a bitter taste in his mouth. Although technically they were successful in ‘saving’ the world and restoring the missing half of the universe, the scars are still very much around. Fear is a living thing, as he has discovered too many nights, battling countless demons that come from within.

 

“Dr Stark? Are you alright?”

 

Tony blinks, back to the present. Arun is looking at him with an expression that has become much too familiar to him in the past year. He has seen it on everybody’s face—Rhodey, Pepper, Happy, even Peter. God, he hates that look.

 

“Sorry.” Tony clears his throat. “Thinking about breakfast. So. More students. That’s cool. You never turn anyone away?”

 

To his relief, Arun makes no other comment on his momentary lapse. “Our policy is to give everyone a chance,” the young sorcerer replies instead. His sedate, measured steps resume, and Tony follows suit. “So far it hasn’t changed.”

 

“Huh.” Tony mulls over the point for a moment. “But no problem with overcrowding? Or can you just spell it away? Oh, I know. This place can magically expand itself.”

 

Arun shakes his head, smiling. “Not quite. We do have a… what do you corporate people call it? Ah, yes—a high turnover rate. Everyone is welcome to stay and try our method of healing, but usually we can tell within the first week or so whether this path is truly for them. And if it isn’t, well, let’s just say that they’re not going to want to stay. And once they have left, they will have no recollection of this place.”

 

“That sounds ominous.”

 

“We have to protect ourselves,” is the pragmatic answer.

 

The dining hall is empty. They share one end of a long table, a simple meal laid out between them. Arun maintains a reverent silence as he eats; so does Tony. It’s something Stephen has shared with him once: the respectful way to eat. To taste. To be mindful of every bite. To recognise the long chain of efforts that allows him to finally enjoy this meal.

 

The vegetarian food is almost tasteless to his palate, and yet, somehow, also good. It’s yet another thing he has learned to appreciate, that something does not always strictly have to be one or the other. Sometimes it can be both.

 

 

–

 

 

After breakfast, Tony goes for a walk.

 

Kamar-Taj, in his estimation, is not an overly large compound, but his estimation may as well be off for a place of this kind. Magic envelops the entire place like a cocoon. Only a properly trained sorcerer can navigate through it without getting lost. For the uninitiated, a straight corridor leading to the kitchens has every possibility to branch instead toward the second study hall.

 

Tony has briefly considered a prowl in the library of Kamar-Taj, but the prospect of working on their joint project without Stephen is rather unappealing. He also declines Arun’s offer to provide a portal to any destination of his choice. A portal remains a method of transportation that he rather avoids unless Stephen is the one who creates it—and even that, only under certain circumstances.

 

Instead, he makes his way to the nearby town.

 

Kamar-Taj stands halfway up a mountain, separated from the only town in the vicinity by a steep rambling path and a long flight of stairs. The town is not a big one; two perpendicular main streets, with dozens of smaller alleys branching from them. A number of stalls and small shops sprout along the sides, busy at this time of day.

 

Tony soon finds himself joining the crowd—strangely enough, with very little apprehension. His nano-suit always stands ready, and he knows that thanks to Stephen, the suit is not the only protection he now has. This sense of security, however, comes from something else entirely. The same magic floods through the town’s streets from Kamar-Taj. Even Tony, who has not a single magically inclined bone in his body, can tell.

 

The townsfolk seem to accept his appearance as a matter of course. They are evidently used to the presence of foreigners. There are a few curious glances sent his way, but they never linger. Two or three times, a wide-eyed teenager will stop and stare, but no one tries to approach or talk to him.

 

This anonymity is liberating and certainly a welcome change. After the defeat of Thanos, Iron Man’s popularity had soared to such heights that his city no longer felt like his city. Combined with the fact that he was an utter wreck after the final battle, getting away from the public’s eyes seemed like the obvious choice. His physical recovery took a little over a month with the aid of Doctor Cho’s Cradle. The other recovery was trickier—in fact, _is_ still a work in progress to this day—but it quickly became obvious to everyone, including Tony, that staying in New York City, so close to a place where he had _died,_ was more detrimental than helpful to his mental health.

 

The idea of Kamar-Taj came, surprisingly enough, not from Stephen, but Wong. Stephen was all too aware of Tony’s sentiments about ‘magic’ to even suggest it. Tony doesn’t remember what made him agree to try in the end, but he will forever be grateful to Wong for speaking up.

 

It isn’t to say that everything was all smooth sailing from day one. The first few weeks saw him secluding himself in the bedroom, away from everyone else but Stephen. Nightmares were his constant companions. Finding reality was a continuous effort. There was also the struggle of getting used to the newly reconstructed half of his body. It felt like wearing a wrong set of clothes, except a hundred times worse because he could not simply take them off.

 

His first real progress came about on the night Stephen returned from some wizarding business. It was the first time he had been away for more than a day. Tony had spent most of his time drawing—blueprints, designs, schematics, any sort of plan that happened to cross his mind. Helen had encouraged it; _yours is a mind full of creation, Tony, do not discourage it._ Tony didn’t tell her that for him, it was only a matter of exercising his _new_ right hand. Making sure that he could make it move the way his old one had. 

 

The result was now evident across his bedroom walls, spread over dozens of papers taped into one. Stephen stepped up next to him, stared, and then said, “Tony, are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

 

Tony remembered that tone, from everyone _everywhere_ after Ultron and its aftermath. “Sorry.” He winced at the guilt in his voice. “Uh. It’s just… a doodle? Nothing concrete, I swear. No harm done.”

 

“You’re designing a system to detect _magic_.”

 

“It’s just a random thought,” Tony continued desperately. “I’m not trying to do _anything_.”

 

It was then that Stephen turned to look at him, his blue eyes brilliant but soft. He was smiling.

 

“I think it’s marvellous.”

 

And with those words, the first of many knots inside Tony’s chest began to loosen. It was Stephen too who came up with the idea of bringing FRIDAY in—a decision that put such a strain on the Wi-Fi capability of Kamar-Taj that modifications were imperative. Luckily for them all, SI had its own satellite system.

 

“Just don’t put too much strain on yourself,” Stephen would remind him from time to time. Tony rolled his eyes but couldn't stop himself from smiling. At last, someone who no longer treated him like he was made of glass.

 

None of these, he knew, could have been easy for Stephen. The sorcerer was the one who had guided Tony back to consciousness after his 'death'. He was also the one who used their borrowed Time Stone to cover grounds where the Cradle found itself lacking in recovering the ruined half of Tony’s body. He was unfailingly patient, keeping himself available as much as possible despite the myriad of obligations waiting for him in the wings. With the Time Stone destroyed, Earth lost the one thing that had kept it safe for hundreds of years. The Stone had been instrumental in deterring the more malicious forces out there from targeting Earth. Now, it was only a matter of time before one of them realised that nothing was standing in their way.

 

And then one night, Stephen returned bloodied and wrecked, his magic lashing wild. Neither Wong nor any of the other Masters could come near him. Only Tony, who had not even a speck of magic in him, could safely approach. And so he did. He touched Stephen’s cheek and the sorcerer crumbled into his arms.

 

Much later, he would learn from Wong that Stephen had just survived a _literal_ fight against Death. For now, however, he was safe, asleep in Tony’s arms, and it was then that Tony knew, with more certainty than he had ever felt, that he would be well again. Stephen needed him, and this one tiny knowledge brought back something he thought he had forever lost.

 

 

–

 

 

Tony stops for lunch at a noodle stall. He shares a table with an old man who is enjoying his meal with gusto despite missing practically half of his teeth. The lined face, baked brown by the sun, smiles often, prompting Tony to eat more. When he orders a second portion of dumplings, he gives one to Tony.

 

The dumpling is hot and juicy, laced by the spicy bitter tang of the sauce. Tony finds himself blinking back tears.

 

“You from the temple?”

 

Tony is finishing the last of his soup when the noodle seller comes to sit at his table. The old man has departed with a smile and a wave. Tony blinks, for a moment disoriented as he tries to process the feeling of being recognised as nothing but a stranger.

 

The noodle seller is a man about his age. He looks at Tony expectantly, smiling the patient half smile of one used to dealing with strangers. For an incongurous moment, his mind goes to Thanos—if this noodle seller happened to be the lucky or the unlucky half of the world.

 

“Yes,” Tony answers at last. The man, he realises, is talking about Kamar-Taj. “You speak English?”

 

“Yes, English,” the man says proudly. A ponderous pause follows. Then he waves at the direction of the mountain, at Kamar-Taj. “Good place,” he continues with a sage nod. “Sick people healthy.”

 

Tony smiles. “Yes, so I’ve heard.” He cannot help but wonder at the number of foreigners this man has seen coming in and out of the ‘temple’.

 

The next half an hour or so is spent in a collaborative effort at conversation. The noodle seller is undaunted by any language barrier. Tony soon learns about the man’s successful children ( _‘in big cities_ ’), his new daughter-in-law, the two grandchildren who just came to visit. He asks about Tony’s children. He doesn’t ask why he’s here.

 

“This road.” He speaks again after a pause, nodding at the street in front of the stall. “Go up. Good place.”

 

This is how Tony ends up following the road. The larger street soon tapers into a dirt footpath, winding and increasingly deserted. With each step, it leads him away from town, toward the crest of a lonely hill.

 

It is very quiet at the top. He finds a large rock to sit on, and from there, he can take in the view over the valley, bursting with wildflowers. Around him, bushes and green vines have given way to trees, their trunks twisted with age. Above, wisps of clouds travel across the sky. The air is cool and sunlight falls gently on his face.

 

The utter silence embraces him. Time glides. Here, he finds peace.

 

 

–

 

 

When Tony finally returns to Kamar-Taj, afternoon practice is underway.

 

Arun nods at him from where he is instructing a dozen or so initiates in the central courtyard. With little else to do, Tony goes to the second floor of the library to watch them from the balcony. The sight of them struggling to create magic circles makes him smile. He imagines Stephen among them—a bumbling novice, with none of the grace and power he now so effortlessly wields.

 

 _Practice makes perfect,_ Stephen told him once. For all his skills, he never forgoes his daily basic practice, the start of every morning. _This is why our title is ‘master’. Our aim is not simply to learn, but to master._

 

And he is right, of course. Practice does make perfect. Half a year ago, Tony could barely lift his right arm. Now, taking his phone out of his pocket is a matter of routine.

 

The thing about having FRIDAY around is that she can filter the outside world for him. Everything except for the most urgent matters will be filed away until he asks for them. In fact, so protective is she of Tony that _anything_ very seldom gets past her filter.

 

“Good afternoon, Boss,” is her greeting the moment he switches the airplane mode off. She sounds so warm and pleased. Tony finds himself smiling. For a moment, he stops thinking in terms of codes or AI learning, content to bask in her company.

 

“Afternoon, FRI.”

 

“It’s nice to hear your voice again. And happy birthday.”

 

“Thank you. Anything important I’ve missed?”

 

“No, but you have a few birthday messages.”

 

“Let’s have ‘em.”

 

His girl, he soon discovers, has become a master of understatement. _A few_ turns out to be thirty-eight messages in total. Eleven of them are from Peter, some short, some rambling, all anxious eagerness. Tony laughs as he listens to each, and if he happens to tear up a bit, then at least no one is around. And then there is Rhodey, fond and long-suffering. Pepper, crisp, completely no-nonsense. Happy, replete with concerns under a series of complaints. Bruce, gentle and quiet, slightly awkward.

 

A 1970s song preludes Quill’s, followed by the rest of the Guardians. Thor’s is full of his old verve. Nebula’s is brief, a stilted attempt at deferring to this obscure custom of Earthlings (completely pointless, in her opinion, but congrats anyway). Stephen left one in his deep smooth baritone. So did Danvers and T’Challa. Harley made some excuses about asking for his opinion on a science project, but managed to come to the point in the end.

 

There is also one from Rogers. It’s scrupulously polite and correct, yet delivered with so much earnestness that Tony finds himself biting his lip to suppress a smile. Their relationship never returns to its old footing, but he is glad to get the message all the same.

 

So absorbed is he in his phone that he doesn’t notice that a portal has opened behind him until a voice says, “Happy birthday.”

 

A grin splits his face, but before he can turn around, Stephen has already wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tight against his chest. It feels like coming home. Like the world has come to a still. Here, in this warm pocket of safety, he can find himself again, bits and pieces settling in place. He likes how Stephen has that effect on him—as if he has a blueprint of Tony and can reassemble him with one touch.

 

“So you’ve said,” he replies, basking in the feeling.

 

“The only day I can say it to you, so might as well say it more than once.”

 

“How’s the emergency?”

 

Stephen sighs, tucking his face into the crook of Tony’s neck. “Under control, for now. Some idiot tried to mess with the fabric of time and space. Quill actually admitted that they might need help, so I figured it must be pretty serious. And it was.”

 

Tony grimaces, his hand coming to rest on Stephen’s hair, tangling with the locks . “Messing with time and space _again_? Is this the new trend now? Am I missing a supervillain memo circulating somewhere?”

 

“After Thanos, everything is fair game.”

 

“Maybe we should have a new calendar. A.T. After Thanos.”

 

Stephen nips the tip of his ear. “Don’t start immortalising villains or every megalomaniac space tyrant out there will start targeting Earth.”

 

“Huh, that’s a good point.” Tony pauses, knots of thoughts tripping across each other in his mind. “I’ve been thinking about that actually.”

 

“What, immortalising villains?”

 

“No, my idiot doctor. The space tyrant thing.” Tony sighs and turns around to face Stephen. “How there are plenty others like Thanos out there. And who knows when they’re going to turn their eyes on earth.”

 

“Tony.” A wary tone comes to Stephen’s voice and the circle of his arms tightens.

 

“I know,” Tony interrupts him. “I’m _not_ stressing myself out over this. I’ve been relaxing the whole day. See?”

 

“So I see.” Stephen smiles and it’s so warm and soft that Tony has to look away and clear his throat, cheeks heating up.

 

“All I’m saying is there must be a way for us to, well, catch up. All those alien techs and whatnot. Just imagine the possibilities. The Infinity Stones aren’t the only dangerous things out there and– well, you know that better than anyone.”

 

Stephen only watches him in silence for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. It reminds Tony of the days after the sorcerer’s fight against Death. It had changed him somewhere deep and unseen. He was different, somehow, in a million little ways, and yet he was still Stephen. Still _is_ Stephen, and Tony trusts him to do his bit. A part of Tony Stark, however, will always be that weapon designer who thinks in terms of offence and defence. SI was once ahead of this game, is _still_ ahead of it in some respect, but when faced against the rest of the universe, he’s all too aware how puny Earth is.

 

“You can ask the Guardians to help you,” Stephen breaks his silence at last. “I think Rocket will be amenable to a deal if the price is right. He can bring stuffs for you to pick apart and study.”

 

Tony stares at him. “Really?”

 

“It will be a good deal. And honestly, with the kind of brain you have, it’s just a matter of time before he starts bringing you the right stuffs. The stuffs he wants broken down and neutralised. Then you’ll be doing the Guardians a favour, and believe me, it’s no little thing.”

 

“This Machiavellian side of you is very sexy but also very disturbing,” Tony announces, earning himself a tiny smirk.

 

“It’s just logic.”

 

“And you’re not even going to try and stop me?”

 

Stephen shrugs. “There’s no point. For one, I’ll be glad for any help to protect the planet from outside threats. The alarm system you’re designing for us is already proving itself very useful. I mean, combining AI with magic? That’s the future right there.”

 

Tony has an entire argument lined up about that can of worms (i.e. Ultron), but he cannot help a flash of a grin. “It’s pretty impressive, I know.”

 

“I know you know. Besides it’ll be useless to try and stop you. You’ve tried to sacrifice yourself to save the world how many times now?”

 

“You’re one to talk, Mr _I let Voldemort kill me a thousand times to stop him from cannibalising Earth_.”

 

“It’s Dormammu, and I’ve seen you die about twelve million out of fourteen, so.”

 

“Those are parallel universes—in a hypothetical future no less—so they don’t count. And your students are staring at us.”

 

Stephen shoots a glance at said students, his teasing smile instantly replaced by a glower. Then he snaps his fingers and each student earns themselves a set of glowing ropes, tied around their arms in complicated knots. “Concentrate.”

 

Tony watches the ensuing chaos with interest. “A very interesting skill there, Doc. Plenty of practice, mayhap?”

 

“Listen–”

 

“Also, can I just say that it’s really hot when you do that?”

 

Stephen rolls his eyes and pulls him close—or, to be precise, the Cloak does, which only makes the entire thing a lot more attractive than it has any right to be. “You’re stubborn and infuriating and you have a tendency to race off and save the world at the peril of your life,” Stephen declares, clearly going for stern but missing it for miles. “But that’s also a sin I’m guilty of, so if we want this thing between us to work, then we better start making it _work_.”

 

Tony finds himself smiling as warmth blooms in his chest. “A bit of quid pro quo. I like that.”

 

“I wouldn’t have left today, you know,” Stephen says, his tone taking a serious turn. “But this crazy guy was trying to ruin your birthday.”

 

“So this is my present? Having an alien invasion thwarted on my special day?”

 

“It was the _first_ present. And, arguably, not only from me, so you’re getting another one. I’ve prepared three things for what we’re going to do next and you get to choose one.”

 

Tony laughs. “Been planning this for a while, haven’t you, Doc? Alright, let’s have ‘em.”

 

“I have a standing reservation in a nice restaurant in Kyoto where we can relax and enjoy ourselves, just the two of us. Or we can spend the night here and I’ll cook you that buttered shrimp you like so much. And some dessert.”

 

“What’s the third one?”

 

There is a moment of hesitation before Stephen replies, “We’ll go back to the Compound and ask everyone over. Peter, Miss Potts, Colonel Rhodes. We’ll order pizzas and watch some movies because one of us really should start educating Peter on _real_ movies.”

 

“Like _Casablanca_?”

 

“Or _Seven Samurai_.”

 

“Ooh, _Seven Samurai_ ,” Tony hums in approval. “That’s a really good one.”

 

“Wouldn’t want his sole consumption to be aliens and intergalactic battles.”

 

“You’ve made your case,” Tony agrees. Something shifts in him as soon as the decision takes root. He angles his chin up, squares his shoulders, straightens his back. Then he takes a deep breath. “Well, I think I’m ready to go back being Tony Stark.”

 

“As long as you’re sure.” Stephen pauses, and the way he looks at him makes Tony’s heart trip over itself. “You know I don’t care who you are as long you’re mine.”

 

This time, it makes him laugh. “That sounds vaguely creepy, and a bit pathetic too to be honest–”

 

But then Stephen is kissing him and Tony gives up arguing in favour of enjoying the kiss. Very few things are more preferable than kissing his magic man. It’s the way Stephen fills him in every way, from the way he cradles the back of Tony’s head to the warmth of a body pressed so close to his. There is quiet certainty in everything Stephen does, and for a man who has spent his entire life floundering from one disaster to another, Tony can ask for nothing better. He recognises a lifeline when he sees one.

 

“Are we traumatising your students?” he asks as soon as they part, if only to cover the moment of vulnerability. “Because if we’re not, I’ll be very disappointed.”

 

“Maybe we should give it another try,” is Stephen’s solemn reply. “Just in case.”

 

“Because there’s no such thing as too much practice?”

 

“Indeed. And they will benefit from it in the long run. Endurance training, you know. To desensitise the mind from impure thoughts–”

 

“Oh god, please shut up,” Tony groans, welcoming the familiar feel of a smirk stretched across Stephen’s lips as he kisses him again.

 

_**End** _

 


End file.
